Shippers
by whytejigsaw
Summary: Prompt from LJ: Sherlock/Molly Est Relationship I'd really love a cute story where Sherlock/Molly find out they have shippers and their ship name is sherlolly. Tweaked slightly, so they are not together.


**I've tweaked it slightly – they're not a couple yet but everyone else wants them to be. And this is unbetaed, because she's out having fun, so I apologise for the typos that I will inevitably see immediately after I post this.**

It started, predictably, with a murder.

"Right, well, what do you think Sherlock?" asked Lestrade.

"I think it could be 5 different things at this stage. We'll know more when the autopsy is done."

"Fine, I'll have the body sent to St. Bart's."

"Make sure Molly Hooper does it," said Sherlock curtly.

"Oh you want your girlfriend to do it?" Lestrade was clearly in a teasing mood.

"My girlfriend? She's the most competent pathologist."

"You mean, she's the only one who'll put up with your bad behaviour?!"

"He means both of those things," John chuckled. "In his own damaged way, he's actually complimenting her, Greg."

"I know…poor girl…she could do so much better than him."

"Hey! First, we're not a couple. Secondly, what do you mean "do better than him"?" asked Sherlock, indignant but not really understanding why.

"Ha! You've upset him now, Greg."

"Yes, I'm about to make it worse too. I think you'd make a lovely couple."

Sherlock threw Lestrade a seriously grumpy look and walked off. John jogged after him.

"Wait, Sherlock. He was just teasing! You don't need to be so touchy…in fact; you normally don't even notice this kind of thing."

"Incorrect, John. I notice it but do not normally react."

"So what's different this time?"

"No one ever accused me of….that before."

"Which thing? He just wants you to be happy," smirked John.

"I am perfectly happy."

"Ah well, you see, all happily married people think that single people need a spouse or partner to be happy. Greg's just back with his wife…"

"That's nonsense."

"Of course it is, but it's still what he's thinking. And since Molly fancies you rotten, she's the obvious choice."

"Please John; we're not in secondary school. Molly does not fancy me. She has an entirely professional admiration for my work."

John doubled over briefly and snorted.

"An entirely professional admiration for your work? Noooo…that's not what it is. Well, it might be part of it, but it's much more likely to be your hair, and your cheekbones, and that collar turn-up. Oh and the fact that you usually treat her like crap. Women love that. It's a total mystery why."

Sherlock hmmed as he hailed a cab and directed it towards the hospital.

"Sherlock, there's no point going there yet. The body hasn't left the scene yet and as good as Molly is, she won't have the autopsy done in half an hour. Let's go home, get some lunch and we can check in with her later on."

"Fine."

Molly was working with Mike Stamford in the lab – she wasn't on duty for post-mortems today.

"It's nice to have a lab day every now and then. So quiet and peaceful," she remarked.

"You mean, no Sherlock Holmes coming in, pestering you for results."

"Complimenting me to get favours," she chimed in. "Oh, not those sort of favours," she added hastily, seeing Mike's startled look.

"You know everyone thinks, no, never mind," he started then changed his mind.

"What?"

"Ah, nothing."

"Mike, you can't start a sentence like that and then stop. I'm intrigued now."

He sighed.

"I shouldn't tell you this but a number of people in the hospital have asked me if you and Sherlock are a couple."

"What?" Molly's eyes widened in surprise.

"What gives them that idea? He barely tolerates me."

"That's not true. He never comes here if you're not at work. Won't work with other pathologists," replied Mike.

"More likely, I'm the only sucker who will tolerate him."

"Well, there's a pair of you in it. They've got a betting pool as to when you might get together."

"Get together?! Good one, Mike. I'm not denying I'm attracted to him – but he's practically a robot. I doubt he ever gives in to human contact. It's a miracle John has put up with him this long."

"Yes, there's another pool going that John and Sherlock are a couple. I'm sure they're wrong. John had quite the reputation when we were training…different girl every week, and none of them ever seemed put out by it. Must be fantastic in bed."

"You've clearly thought about that," teased Molly, trying to change the subject.

"They even have a name for you."

"Huh?"

"You know the way famous couples get a name: Bennifer, Brangelina, etc."

"Er, right. But we're not famous nor are we a couple. Should I issue a statement?"

"Don't you want to know what they call you?"

"Really, Mike, would you like to de-cloak from this mysterious "they" and just admit it's all in your head?"

"Alright, I'll drop it," he said, as his phone rang.

"Lestrade, hi…what?...ok, really? Fine…send it over…I'll get her on it. I suppose we'll see them later then? Yes, right, bye."

"That was Lestrade," he said, unnecessarily. "There's been a murder. Sherlock has requested you do the autopsy. See, he wants you," he added, significantly.

"Oh shut up. Do I have time to finish up this experiment?"

"Sure…the body's still at the crime scene."

At Baker St, John persuaded Mrs Hudson to knock together some sandwiches, and then, because he was nicely brought up, invited her to eat with them. Their kitchen was a bio-hazard zone, so plates were balanced on knees in the living room.

Sherlock was checking his phone every couple of minutes.

"Sherlock, I'll sure she'll call or text when it's done, and unless your hearing has seriously degraded, you'll know because the phone will make a little jingly noise."

Sherlock tutted loudly.

"What's this about, John?" asked Mrs Hudson, innocently.

"Sherlock's waiting for his girlfriend to call," jeered John.

"I am not. I mean, I am, but she's not my girlfriend," retorted Sherlock.

"Who is it? I would so love to see you settled down, Sherlock, dear."

"It's Molly Hooper – you remember her from that Christmas party?" explained John.

"Oh, but she's lovely. And she's ever so keen on you, Sherlock. Perfect to put up with your weird hobbies. Why don't you ask her out? I wouldn't say no to grand-tenants!"

"Stop it, the two of you! Molly is not and will not be my girlfriend. We're not celebrities in magazines – you don't get to discuss our personal lives like we're in a knitting circle."

"So touchy, isn't he, John?!"

"Yes, far too much protesting," John added.

Sherlock picked up his phone again. No messages.

"Honestly, you've gone a bit Bridget Jones. You'll be ringing your voicemail in a moment to hear "you have no new messages"."

"I don't know what you're talking about. I am simply eager for the results of the post-mortem. In fact, I'll just pop down there now and wait for her to finish. She can't be much longer."

"Hey, I'm not finished my lunch. Some of us like to chew rather than inhale our food," moaned John.

"Stay here then, follow me after you've masticated 36 times and digested your food."

Sherlock flounced out of the room, grabbing his coat and scarf, despite the sunshine outside.

"Well, I never, John. He is such a drama queen."

"I know. He doesn't even see that he fancies her! Do you know the hospital staff has a nickname for them?"

"A nickname, how delightful."

"They call them "sherlolly" – it's an amalgam of their names. Personally, I think it's a bit silly but hospitals can be fiercely gossipy places…and those two spend all that time in the morgue together. There's a betting pool on when they get together and everything."

Mrs Hudson chuckled heartily at the notion.

"It would do him the world of good to…" her voice trailed off as she remembered she was talking to a man half her age.

"…have a good shag?" finished John pleasantly. "Couldn't agree more. To paraphrase a famous film "Pardon my French, but Sherlock is so uptight that if you stuck a lump of coal up his arse, in two weeks you'd have a diamond."

Molly was elbow deep in the abdomen of the latest unfortunate homicide casualty, who had been a rather handsome young man before someone did him in. Cause of death was tricky. The victim – Molly liked to remain impersonal – had been a healthy 30 year old man, clearly worked out.

"What a waste – those abs!" she remarked aloud to herself.

Sherlock had just entered the morgue and heard her comment.

"Do you always comment of the physical appearance of your patients, Dr Hooper?" he joked.

"I do, actually, it helps me alleviate the awfulness. Otherwise, I'd spend half my time crying over terrible deaths. Hello, by the way," she smiled.

"Hello. So what is the verdict?"

"Well, as you can almost certainly tell from the fact that his chest is still open, I'm not finished yet. You'll just have to wait."

Sherlock hung up his coat and scarf on the peg near the door and swung himself up on a bench.

"Ok."

"I didn't mean here. And those benches are not for sitting on. We have perfectly good chairs," Molly was very defensive of her morgue.

"I can't see you work if I sit on a chair. Just go about your business….I'll be quiet."

"Ha! I bet you've never said that sentence before in your life. I bet you've never been quiet either. I'd say you even talk in your sleep. Not that I've thought about it."

Sherlock looked at her funny.

"Molly…."

"Is this you being quiet? I thought so." She pressed her Dictaphone on with footpad "heart weighs 312g."

"Molly…."

"Really, you have the attention span of a 5 year old. What is it?"

Sherlock looked affronted at this outburst.

"Lestrade thinks we would make a lovely couple. Why would he say such a thing?"

Molly laughed nervously.

"He said what now?"

"That you and I would make a lovely couple. John says it's because he wants everyone to be happy in the same way he is."

"Well, that's quite normal. Don't let it worry you."

"But why bring it up then?"

"Why indeed?" deadpanned Molly.

"I passed Stamford in the corridor on my way in. He said "John not with you?" in a funny voice and then made a very odd face at me.

"Yes, he wants us to be a couple too. Apparently the whole hospital does. I set him straight."

"What did you say?"

She put the kidney she was holding onto the weighing scales and regarded him.

"That we are not a couple, nor would we be. Obviously."

"Why is that obvious?"

"Have you hit your head at all today, Sherlock?" she asked.

"What? No. Why?"

"You're asking remarkably stupid questions. It's obvious because you have never shown the slightest bit of interest in me, other than professionally. People can want us to be together all they like…"

"And are you one of those people?" enquired Sherlock, ruffling his hair with one hand.

Molly gave a loud sigh, stepped away from the body and stripped off her gloves.

"Sherlock, do we really have to have this conversation now? You know that I am attracted to you. I know that you consider me one of your very few friends. There's no need to rock the boat. If nothing happened the night I helped you fake your own suicide, then nothing ever will. Or at least, if we'd been in a movie, that's when we would have slept together – adrenalin, you know." She was rambling now.

"But Molly, I show interest in you all the time. I only want to work with you. I notice when you have new clothes or gain weight or change your hair…"

"You notice those things on everyone," she said dismissively.

He waved his hand irritably.

"I don't compliment everyone."

"You only compliment me to get things."

"No, that's just a side benefit."

He slid off the bench and stood in front of her.

"So what are you saying, Sherlock?"

"Would it be so terrible?"

"Terrible if you liked me? No. But it would make a lot of people insufferably smug, and I'm not sure I could bear it. Do you know they have a nickname for us?"

"Really? What is it?"

"No idea. I told Mike I wasn't interested."

"So you're not interested then?"

Molly took a step towards Sherlock, leaving only a small gap between them.

"I didn't say that," she said coyly.

"Then perhaps some sort of kissing is in order."

"Here? Now?" Molly squeaked. "I don't think so, Sherlock. We can't let the hospital staff win. If we were caught snogging in the morgue, we'd never live it down."

"Really, Molly, you underestimate us. We lived down faking my death! I think we can face a little slagging."

Molly gave a little nod, as if coming to a decision. She reached her hand around his neck and pulled him down to eye level and very quickly pressed her lips against his.

"Hey, this isn't something to be endured! I don't have a vast experience, but I'm pretty sure one is meant to enjoy kissing."

Sherlock swept his left arm around her waist, and drew her in close. He brushed some hair off her cheek and tucked it behind one ear. His thumb stroked her jaw line and Molly realised she was holding her breath. After a few seconds of looking in each other's eyes, Sherlock said "let's try it again." This kiss was a slow caress of the lips, soft and wet and rather nice. Molly put her arms around him and leaned against his body, taking the experience in.

John was watching through the glass door. He walked a little way down the corridor and took out his phone.

"Mike, it's John. Who had Sherlolly happening today? Oh you did, did you? And Greg, you say? That's funny because I almost walked in on them kissing just now. What did you say? I reckon the two of you cheated! Well, anyway, as of now, the second pool is open. Yes, the "how soon will she dump him" pool…"


End file.
